


The Eternal Red Rose

by SassyFlamingo2



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Cafe Owner Reader, F/M, Francis is a sweetheart, Literature, Romance, Summary writing is harder than writing the actual fic, Vampire France (Hetalia), Vampire Hunter England, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 14:28:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19792810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyFlamingo2/pseuds/SassyFlamingo2
Summary: It's been another busy day at (y/n)'s cafe when a very suspicious man arrives just an hour before closing. Demanding information about her personal friend Francis, she must decide if this man's outrageous claims of supernatural activity are true....





	The Eternal Red Rose

"Hey, (y/n)! There's somebody asking for you at the counter!" Your co-worker, Mitzi, yelled through the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the rest of the cafe as she grabbed her items and left for the day. You sighed, shoving the pan of raw cinnamon rolls into the refrigerator. Yes, business was slow since it was nearly closing time. but you were going to need every uninterrupted moment to prepare for tomorrow and the rush of breakfast goers descending on you for their most important meal of the day. 

Fueled by annoyance at being interrupted, you barged through the door slightly harder than you meant to, starling the man waiting for you beside the counter. He was tall and thin, dressed in a black suit and tie, with thick fuzzy blonde hair cut short and large emerald green eyes, but that wasn't his most noticeable feature. Above those eyes lay two thick expanses of vibrantly black hair, very much appearing like someone had taken two giant fuzzy caterpillars and glued them to this man's face. He smiled politely but it didn't break your scowl as he presented you with some papers and a large photo. "Good Evening, Miss (l/n). My name is Arthur Kirkland. I'm looking for a very dangerous man and I was told that you have been seen serving him at this cafe. Could you tell me where I might could find him?" He spouted off. His English accent annoyingly clipping the words like a hedge trimmer. 

Still scowling, you snatched the offered paper out of his hand and glanced down. You gasped in shock. A handsome man with long honey-blond hair tied neatly at the back of his neck with a ribbon, dressed in a white dress shirt of the highest quality silk and fashionable black trousers with matching leather shoes was casually relaxing on the patio dining area of your cafe. Although, based on the way he was lounging in the wrought iron chair, he could have just as easily been sitting in a beach chair on the French Riveria instead of here. The way the light was glistening off his hair and the way he held the newspaper in his hands was so life-like, like a model staged by a photographer for a professional photo shoot instead of a snapshot of everyday life. 

Another photo peeked from behind this one and you shuffled them, revealing another photo of the handsome man but this one also contained yourself. The memory standing out in colorful contrast after the prompt of the photo. It was a late afternoon and you were sitting across from him at the table, your (h/c) hair pulled up into a bun and still wearing the apron from your (cafe name's) kitchen after a long day's work and you were tired. You felt horrible and greasy after cooking all day long and were very much ready to go home and take a nice refreshing shower. However, Mitizi had informed you that someone was requesting to speak to the chef much like today had been. Expecting a barrage of complaints, you dutifully marched out to the patio where the customer waited, but that was where things changed. Instead of the angry grey-haired old dragon you were anticpating, you were stunning to see the blonde haired man smiling at you and beckoning you to sit down at his table. He then proceeded to shower you with compliments on the wonderful skill of your cooking, your beauty, and the delicious taste of your food. At one point in his tirade, he became so excited that his lovely french accented voice split fully into his own mother tongue. It was only when he noticed your confused expression did he realize his error, lifting your hand to his lips for a kiss of apology and the murmured introduction of his name.

That was the day you fell in love with Francis Bonnefoy.

Francis started visiting your cafe every day after that, always ordering whatever the chef's special of the day was be it soup, salad, or sweet. Soon, he started waiting for you every night after the cafe closed to walk you home under the stars, his calming presence provided you an outlet to vent your frustrations that arose from the day while he listened attentive, laughing or whispering his sympathies at the appropriate moments, usually followed by a loving kiss at the end of your stroll.

How could anyone so sweet be dangerous?

"I'm sorry Mr. Kirkland, but I don't know this man that well," You lied. Thrusting the papers and photographs towards the fuzzy haired Englishman. He seemed rather flabbergasted for a moment before those fuzzy caterpillars dropped into a scowl. He leaned across and snatched your wrist in a painful bone crushing grip, his green eyes sparkling in the light with anger and obsession. "I don't think you fully understand, Ms. (l/n). This is not a normal man, he is an unholy creature that must be exterminated from this Earth! If you do not help our organization find this creature, there may be serious _consequences_ to your charming little cafe." 

"No," You said, voice low and deadly as you pulled a gun from beneath the counter and pressed it right under his chin. "I don't think you understand, _Mr. Kirkland_. I don't know where Mr. Bonnefoy is nor would I tell you if I knew. You claim that he is some sort of evil but yet you are the one that marched into my shop and started threatening my life when I wouldn't tell you what you wanted to hear." You pressed the muzzle of the gun a little firmer into the soft skin beneath his neck. "Now you have two choices. Number one, you can let go of my wrist and get your a** out of here as fast as those skinny legs can run or number two, you can become my new wall decorations. Me personally, I'm hoping for number two because I'm looking for something to spruce the place up with."   
  
Arthur practically threw your arm to the side before backing up, knocking tables and chairs askew all the while never taking his eyes of you and your gun. Just as he reached the door, he paused and straightened his rumpled jacket with a tug. "Your just as evil as he is." Arthur spit, yanking the door open and slamming it closed behind him. You crept to the door, flipped the lock, and watched the Englishman cross the street -- briefly hoping he might get hit by a car -- till he disappeared for sight. As soon as you were sure that he was gone, a profound sense of relief swept over you so hard that it sent your knees buckling into a nearby chair, your shaky hand placing the gun carefully on the table as the fiery fury drained away. 

Your phone! Oh, God! You had to call Francis and tell him there was some bizarre freako searching for him! You shot to your feet and dashed for the counter, rifling through the clutter of your hidden purse till the phone materialized in your hand. It took three attempts before your trembling fingers could press Francis's contact button.

"Ah, bonne soirée mon amour! I am waiting for you out-"

His melodic voice was cut off when you smashed the end button and flung your phone back into your purse. You thundered through your kitchen and out the back door. Francis was casually dressed in a white longsleeve shirt and black jeans, a blue scarf artfully arranged around his neck, and staring at his phone in question. When you burst out of the door, his blue eyes met your teary ones and within two steps, he had you completely enveloped in the warm safety of his arms. "What's wrong, darling? Who has dared to upset my little treasure?"

"This horrible Englishman with monstrous eyebrows barged into the shop just as I was finishing the cinnamon roll dough for in the morning and starting ranting on how you were a murderous creature and that because I was your friend, something horrible would happen to me and my cafe if I didn't tell him were you were." You sobbed into the soft fabric of his shirt. 

Francis's entire body stiffened. "Ma belle, look at me," his now deeper voice rumbled in your ear. Placing a long finger under your chin, he gently nudged your chin upwards till your eyes met his. Raw fury swirled in the depths of those baby blue jewels, changing the light blue shade to a vibrant violet tinged with scarlet red -- the color of danger. "Was this man's name Arthur Kirkland?"

"Well, well, well. What do we have here? The beauty and the beast I suppose." That familiar English-tinted voice sneered. Francis's head snapped up as the suit clad Arthur stepped into view. A disgusted smile present on his face as he twirled a long wooden object, pointed rather sharply on one end, in his hand. "I knew if I lingered around long enough, you would come back for the girl."

"(y/n), go inside and lock the door. Don't come out no matter what you hear." Francis growled. His blue eyes were now completely shaded over to a vivid scarlet as he glared at Arthur. His body angling to block your's from Arthur's sight as he tried to push you back towards the door to the kitchen but you didn't move. You were frozen, staring at the tips of sharp white fangs that were just beginning to peek out from beneath his lips.

"Oh, (y/n)! He hasn't told you yet? Don't you want to know what _exactly_ your boyfriend? He's a-"

"Shut up, stupid black sheep!"

"A vampire," Arthur finished. "A filthy bloody demon that's slaughtered thousands of innocent lives!"

"You lie! I've never taken a mortal life in all my years!"

Your head snapped back and forth like a volleyball between the shouted conversations before settling on Francis, the words still echoing in your head. He's a vampire. Your mind agreed with Arthur, that you should run far away from this fanged creature but your heart wouldn't let you. His muscular arm slid from your waist, allowing you the freedom to escape if you so wished but what caught your attention most of all and nearly made your heart break. It was the look of pure hopeless despair that glowed in his blood red eyes, the look that said he knew you would run away just like all the others had.

"Mon trésor, I promise. I had not intended to tell you this way. To tell you... what I am." Francis gestured to himself, to the large fangs splitting his gums. Despite the obvious difference, he was still Francis. The man who made you laugh when you were so tired that you felt dead. Who was your personal guinea pig for tasting every one of your new recipes and praised your talents to the heavens. The one who was your personal fashion consultant and showered you with his love and affection every day.

"It's okay, Francis. I don't mind even if you are a vampire," You whispered, trying not to let the tremble of nerves into your voice. A sudden thought popped into your head, a very _mischievous_ thought. "Francis, just how strong are you?"

"Quoi? Uh... Stronger than most men, Amore."

You inclined your head towards Arthur. "Can you kick his a** in three minutes or less? If you do, I'll give you a special surprise."

And there was that devilish smirk. "Ohohonhonhon. Amore, you are truly an angel after my own heart." 

You returned his smile. "Go get'em, fang boy!"

Let's just say Francis was highly motivated and poor Arthur didn't stand a chance. You actually felt sorry for the beaten black and blue Englishman when Francis dumped Arthur in the dumpster. 

You raised an eyebrow in question.

"Trash belongs with trash," he stated simply. Those red eyes of his traveling up and down your form, the bright color turning an even darker shade of crimson. "Now, my darling." He hissed in a seductive whisper that showed off those gleaming fangs of his, his muscular body edging you backwards till you bumped into the wall, his arms rising up to cage you between his body and the wall till all you could feel was his heat and the chilled wall against your skin. "About that surprise?" 

  


**Author's Note:**

> Once again the awesome sounding idea in my head seemed to fall flat in words... Oh, well.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it! This fic is also listed on my Deviantart happydoo2  
> Hetalia and all characters do not belong to me.  
> The idea does belong to me.  
> You belong to Francis, the country of love, himself.


End file.
